


It Might Be Instamatic Flu

by turps



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Gen, de-aged Bob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-19 14:55:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22279363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turps/pseuds/turps
Summary: On Tuesday, Bob woke up four years old
Comments: 17
Kudos: 42





	It Might Be Instamatic Flu

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written as a comment fic on my journal at livejournal.
> 
> It has a co-writer who subsequently left fandom and deleted any posted works. 
> 
> After deciding to re-upload it as a co-write with an orphan writer I tried to work out how to do that, but sadly couldn't work out how to have both names. So please know this work is a co-write from back in 2009.
> 
> While I won't name the other writer, I still give thanks to them for helping make this story as good as it is, and all the fun writing it.
> 
> Title comes from [Sick](http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/16480) by Shel Silverstein.

_Cover art by[](http://runauberginerun.livejournal.com/profile)[ **runauberginerun**](http://runauberginerun.livejournal.com/) (click to see bigger):_

_Leave feedback for the artist[here.](http://runauberginerun.livejournal.com/95002.html)_

*

The coffee had _just_ got done. Frank wasn't sure exactly how much easier what happened next would've been if he and Ray'd had time to get at least one or two cups of double-strength Columbian Supremo further into their day, but he was sure it would have helped at least a little.

Ray sat slumped at the little table, half face-planted in a game guide while he stirred sugar and that gross vanilla creamer crap into his coffee. Frank stood propped against the counter, hip braced against it to keep him steady against the movement of the bus; he was whispering sweet nothings to his own steaming mug of black, no sugar, no cream. He heard a thump and footsteps from the bunk area.

"Coffee's made," he said. "If you use your giant 7-Eleven mug you better make another pot, asshole."

He glanced up when he took a nice, big sip, expecting to see Bob staggering toward him making grabby-hands for the coffee pot.

Then he swallowed the sip, carefully, because choking on hot coffee hurt like a bitch. Bob had not made it into the kitchenette yet. In fact, Bob was not there at all.

"Um," Frank said.

The kid was wearing Bob's shirt -- the red flannel one that Frank was pretty sure Bob had fallen asleep in last night, but obviously he hadn't because the kid was wearing it. He was practically drowning in it. The hem fell nearly to his ankles, and the sleeves swallowed up his arms. He stood just where the bunks gave way to the kitchenette, with one arm flung out as the motion of the bus made him sway. The shirt-sleeve dangled off the end of his hand; the other sleeve covered his other hand as he rubbed his sleepy eyes.

"Ray," Frank said.

A long, long groggy second later, Ray said, "Mmph."

"Ray, whose kid is that?"

The kid looked up at Frank's voice. He blinked at Frank for a moment, scratching his head above his ear where his blond hair was all tangled and bed-heady; then he dropped his hand and stared for another moment.

"Huh?" Ray said. He didn't look up from his book.

" _Ray_ ," Frank hissed, because the kid's eyes had just gotten really, really wide, and really freaked out, and Frank had little cousins, okay, he knew that look and it was not good.

Suddenly the kid spun around and took a couple of running steps down the narrow passage between the bunks. Just as suddenly he stumbled to a stop. Frank could see him look around, and saw him wrap his flannel-engulfed arms around himself. Then he turned again, looking back and forth between Frank and Ray, his eyes getting impossibly huge, as he inched backward hesitantly.

"Ray, _whose fucking kid is that_?" Frank said, because if they could find who the kid belonged to right the fuck now -- but it was too late.

The kid's face crumpled and he opened his mouth and wailed.

"The fuck?!" Abruptly, Ray sat upright and the game guide slid to the floor. "Frank? Where did you find that kid?"

"He's got nothing to do with me," Frank said, and immediately felt guilty when the kid backed up against the nearest wall, tears sliding down his face, which jesus fuck, whoever brought the kid on the bus was going to pay. Setting down his coffee, Frank cautiously approached and crouched down. "We're not going to hurt you, don't cry."

"Try to give him a hug or something," Ray said, sounding freaked. "Kids like hugs."

"You hug him," Frank said, already reaching forward. He touched the kid's arm and the kid wailed louder. Frank jerked back his hand. "Any more bright ideas?"

"Find out who he belongs to?"

Frank looked over his shoulder, because really, this was Ray's bright idea? "I was thinking more short-term. You've got brothers, how do you comfort them?"

"My brothers are _adults_ , we do back-slaps and arm-punches." Ray edged out from behind the table and looked toward the back of the bus. "I'll get Gerard."

Somehow the kid managed to wail even louder. Frank winced and looked at Ray. "Why?"

"Because he's a big brother," Ray said, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world. Frank resisted the urge to pick up the nearest shoe and throw it at him.

"You may not have noticed, but Mikey's an adult too. They don't...." Frank stopped talking and thought about the Ways, and okay, maybe Ray had a point. "Go get him, I'll stay here with the kid."

Ray nodded and inched past; Frank sat down on the floor and started talking. "Hey, it's okay. I know it's scary but we'll find out where you came from. Until then, do you watch cartoons? I like cartoons, my favorite is the roadrunner, that fucker never stops moving, he can handle explosives too, I like that in a bird. Have you ever seen the Roadrunner?" Frank shuffled a little closer, snot was running down the kid's face, but his wails were a little quieter, more the volume of a freight train instead of a jet. "Scooby Doo is good, too. The original though, Scrappy Doo is an annoying little shit."

Still edging closer, Frank leaned against the wall next to the kid, making no attempt to touch. "Or how about the Muppets? Mikey's always watching them. I think he's got a crush on Miss Piggy."

"A'nmal."

At first Frank thought he'd heard wrong, but yeah, the kid had stopped crying, and was looking at Frank with big watery eyes. "You like Animal?"

"He go boom!" The kid said seriously, Frank nodded.

"Mikey has a Muppets DVD, do you want to watch?"

The kid wiped the back of his hand across his face, snot trailing between his nose and the cuff of the shirt. "With you?"

"You know it." Frank stood and held out his hand, the kid reached up and curled his fingers around Frank's thumb.

*

Getting to the couch and the TV took a little doing, though. They got about half a step into the kitchenette when the kid stopped again. He squeezed Frank's thumb tightly, pulled a little off-balance when Frank didn't stop right away, and wouldn't budge another step forward.

"It's okay, dude, we're just headed for the TV," Frank said. He pried the kid's grip from his thumb so he could get hold of the little hand, and gave him a tug.

The kid shook his head. He looked at his feet, trying to paw the bottom of the shirt up so he could see better. Lifting one foot, he went unsteadily up on his toes on the other one, hanging onto Frank for balance. He gazed up at Frank with a mix of uncertainty and disapproval.

"It's too sticky," he said.

Frank blinked at him for a second, and then at the...wow, _really_ cruddy and gross linoleum. He was used to it; everybody was used to it. Well. Everybody except Bob, who refused to walk around the bus without his slippers on. But the stains and layers of spilled coffee and juice and food and whatever other crap they allowed to build up on the floor probably wouldn't feel great on tiny bare feet.

"Ah, right, sorry about that," Frank said. He rubbed his neck. "We're not the cleanest guys in the world. Um." He hesitated. The kid had a death grip on his hand, but he was still sort of leaning away a little. "You want me to carry you?"

The kid wobbled awkwardly on his tiptoes while he gravely considered the distance between them and the opposite side of the kitchenette. Without looking at Frank, he nodded, holding up his free flannel-covered arm in Frank's general direction in the universal kid-signal for 'pick me up.'

"Right," Frank said. "So."

He got the kid under the armpits, careful not to pinch, and hauled him up. The kid wasn't much of a haul, being ridiculously small beneath the folds of the shirt, and he settled easily on Frank's hip. Frank felt the hand that had been clutching his thumb twist in the back of his t-shirt.

"Okay, onto the Muppets," he said.

Navigating through the mess between the bunks and the sitting area was pretty much second nature, even with a rugrat hanging off him. He tried not to be too obvious about staring, but failed completely because whenever he glanced at the kid, the kid was staring at _him_.

"Hey, my name's Frank," Frank said. "What's yours?"

Leaning precariously back in Frank's arms, the kid stared silently at him. His red-rimmed eyes were bright blue and still shiny with left-over tears. He gave Frank the same uncertain-and-disapproving look the sticky floor had rated, and it took Frank a second to make a guess as to why.

"You're not supposed to tell strangers your name?" he said.

The kid nodded.

Frank stifled a grin. The kid had already let himself be lured into a stranger's arms by Muppets, but snapped back into Stranger Danger mode when Frank asked for his name. It would be really disturbing if Frank was a creepy serial killer or something, but since he wasn't it was kind of funny.

"Fair enough."

They got to the couch, and the kid wiggled out of Frank's arms as soon as Frank bent to set him down. While Frank moved to dig through the DVD pile, the kid floundered toward the corner of the couch, fighting the long shirt that caught and tangled around his feet and legs. Frank shook his head. Step two after pawning the kid off on Gerard: find something for the kid to wear that was _not_ Bob's ginormous lumberjack shirt --

"Wait." Frank stopped looking through the DVDs and examined the kid.

Blond, blue eyes, wearing Bob's shirt.

Motherfucker.

Frank stood up.

"Bob!" he yelled. "Bob, get your ass out here so I can kick it, I swear to god --"

A hiccupy squeak from the couch interrupted him. With his knees pulled up and his head pulled down between his shoulders, the kid was almost all red flannel. All Frank could see of him was his eyes, wide and watering like crazy again.

"Oh crap," Frank said quickly. "No, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell. I just -- I figure Bob --"

The hiccupping rose in volume and started sounding more like crying.

Frank dropped down in front of the couch, holding his hands out. "No no no no, don't do that, it's okay."

"What -- whoa."

Frank glanced up at Gerard, who'd frozen a good foot away from the couch. Mikey peered around him, and Ray stood well behind them both, peeking over top of them from a careful distance, the coward.

"I thought you guys were, like, punking us or something," Gerard said.

"Yeah, no," Frank said, trying to ignore the miserable sniffles and whimpering coming from the bundle of flannel. That shit was really fucking hard to ignore, though. He clutched the DVDs to his chest so as not to try pulling the kid into a hug, because what if that came off as Bad Stranger Touching and set the kid off even more? "Look, somebody roll Bob out of bed, okay? I think he needs to be the one handling this."

"I'll get him," Ray said immediately, and disappeared back into the bunk area.

"He looks like a mini Bob," Gerard said, and took a step closer, his eyes narrowed slightly as he studied the visible portions of the kid's face. "He's got the same bone structure and his eyes...."

"Are the same color, I saw that." Frank looked past Gerard and Mikey, watching for Bob. He needed to be out here dealing with this, not sleeping through all the commotion.

Gerard shook his head and kneeled on the floor. The kid shrank back and Frank couldn't blame him. Between the epic bedhead and the ratty pajamas Gerard looked a half step removed from a hobo. "No, it's more than that, they're identical."

Frank frowned. He could hear Ray knocking on the side of Bob's bunk, but there was no answering reply and Frank was tempted to jump up and bodily haul Bob out of bed.

Gerard knee-walked closer to the couch. "You look so much like Bob, is he your daddy?"

The kid shook his head and Gerard made a thoughtful sound, as if he'd expected the denial.

"Guys." Ray stepped back into view; he looked freaked and was holding a pair of shorts in his hand. He held them up. "Bob's not in his bunk, just these, and socks at the bottom."

Frank jumped to his feet. "He has to be there, we haven't stopped." He pushed past Ray and pulled back the curtain of Bob's bunk. "You'd better come out, Bryar. I know you're in there."

"He's not." Ray said, moving to stand next to Frank. They both stared into the bunk, with the socks at the bottom and Bob's iPod near the top, the ear buds tangled together on the pillow.

"He's in the bathroom then." Suspecting an elaborate joke, Frank looked in the bathroom, in the other bunks, in front with the driver -- but nothing. Alarmed, he went back to the lounge. "He's not here."

"He is," Gerard said. He was still kneeling on the floor, elbows braced against the couch as he stared at the kid, who was staring right back.

Frank started to pace. "Well, he must be invisible then."

"The government is experimenting with an invisibility ray," Mikey perched on the couch, drinking Frank's abandoned coffee. "I don't think they've perfected it yet."

"Well that's one thing we can cross off our list," Frank said, and kept pacing. He eyed his coffee, weighing up the odds of taking it back, but Mikey was huddled around the mug, protecting it with his sharp elbows and glare. Conceding that battle, Frank paced back toward the kitchenette, the soles of his feet sticking to the floor. "We need to call the police, and Brian."

"We don't," Gerard said. "Well, maybe Brian, but not the police. Bob's not missing."

"So where is he, then?" Ray asked, already holding his phone.

Gerard pointed at the kid. "Right here."

"Knock this shit off, Gee," Frank said, torn between being mad and worried about Bob. "Where is he?"

"I told you, he's here." Gerard smiled, and wiggled his fingers. "Bob, tell Frank hi."

The kid looked at Frank, said quietly, "Hello."

Frank sat on the floor -- hard.

*

"Come on, Bob. Let go." Ray pinched at the bridge of his nose, looking pained. "You can't go to the store wearing that."

Bob scowled and grasped the red shirt tighter, chubby fingers wrapped around the material. "No!"

Ray tugged at his own section of shirt, trying to get it over Bob's head. "We'll get you something better. A Thomas the Tank t-shirt, you'll like that."

"Thomas is for babies!"

"Okay, fine, we'll get something different," Ray said patiently and Frank looked away, turning to the battle taking place in the bunks.

"I'm just saying, Frank's small too." Mikey was sitting on his bunk, crouched forward, most of his clothes spread out at his side -- an array of black pants and t-shirts, none of them looking too clean.

"I know, but he wears normal size clothes, you shop in the juniors section." Gerard leaned forward and picked up a blue t-shirt, ignoring Mikey's scowled protest. "This will be perfect. He'll just need a belt."

Conceding with a shrug, Mikey sighed, said, "He'd better not turn back and rip it."

"You think it's some kind of Hulk thing?" Looking thoughtful, Gerard stared at Mikey. "I was thinking more of a curse."

"I haven't seen any crones hanging around, but two towns back there was that weird green tint to the water."

"Possible," Gerard said. "But we drank the water too."

Frank stepped forward and plucked the t-shirt out of Gerard's hands. "I'm going to change Bob. If you're coming...."

They both stood and Gerard said, "I wouldn't miss this for the world."

Ray still had not gotten the flannel shirt off of Bob, though. He'd stopped trying entirely, actually, and was standing up with his arms crossed tightly across his chest. His face was scarlet.

Across the small space from him, Bob had squashed himself into a corner. He clutched fistfuls of the shirt against his chest and he stared stonily up at Ray. Judging by Ray's expression, if this was a staring contest Bob was definitely winning.

"You can't even get a shirt off a little kid?" Frank said.

Ray tore his unsettled gaze from Bob. "Frank. Did you realize he's not wearing anything under that shirt?"

Frank snickered and rolled his eyes. "That's the point of this shopping trip, Ray. To get him some clothes, including things he wears _under_ clothes. Besides, we live on a fucking bus. We've all seen each other without clothes on at some point, dude."

"But not _completely naked_." Ray paused and eyed Frank, and then Gerard. Then he waved a hand abbreviatedly at Bob. "I mean, not _Bob_ anyway. And. What about when he changes back? How am I going to look him in the eye if I've seen him _naked_?"

Gerard laughed, propping his chin on Frank's shoulder from behind. "I think he'll be a little more concerned with the fact that we've all seen him three years old, Ray."

"Four!" Bob said sharply, and then shrank back a little when they all looked at him.

Cutting off his laugh, Gerard said very seriously, "I'm sorry. I meant four."

Bob unshrank a little. He did not loosen his hold on the flannel shirt, unfortunately.

Frank crouched down in front of him.

"Listen, buddy, I know that's a really awesome shirt."

Frank ignored Ray's snigger. Bob had a couple of articles of clothing that Frank teased him about mercilessly whenever he wore them; the red flannel shirt was one of them. But, seriously, like Bob needed any help looking like a lumberjack.

"But it's way, way too big for you. We can't take you in the store in it. You can wear Mikey's blue shirt though, okay?"

He held up the blue shirt. Bob examined it, and then his bottom lip pushed out a little and started to wobble. Reaching out, he slapped the shirt out of Frank's hands.

"No," he said. The lip wobble got worse. "I want _my_ blue shirt." Frank could see Bob trying to hold back, but a couple of tears spilled down his cheeks anyway. "It has a dragon."

Normal-sized Bob trying to be all stoic and shit tended to make Frank feel better. Bob was kind of like their rock -- the guy they could count on to not completely fall apart when things went fuck-sided.

Tiny, confused, scared Bob trying to be stoic while tears ran down his pudgy little cheeks and snot started dribbling out his nose again made Frank kind of want to cry too. Or possibly beat up whoever was upsetting Bob, but since at the moment that was Frank he couldn't actually do that.

"Maybe we'll find a shirt with a dragon on it at the store," he said.

Bob shook his head, still trying not to cry and still failing. Little pieces of Frank's heart started crumbling away.

"Hey," Gerard said. "You know what, Bob?"

He waited for Bob to look up at him, and then he crouched down beside Frank.

"I went on a trip once," Gerard said. "And I forgot to bring my favorite shirt with me. It was really cool -- it had Batman on the front and it had this awesome cape attached to it so that I could pretend I was Batman too. But I forgot it, and I cried."

Bob hitched the collar of the shirt up and smushed it against his face, wiping his nose and cheeks at the same time. Frank cringed a little at the mess, and made a mental note to add, like, baby wipes or something to the list of things to get at the store.

When Gerard didn't continue, Bob said, voice muffled by the shirt, "Did you go get it?"

Gerard shook his head. "Nope. But I got to get a new shirt. I got to look around at the store until I found the one I liked best."

Bob let the shirt fall. "Did it have a dragon?"

"No." Gerard grinned. "I kind of wish it had, but I think it had Superfriends or something on it."

Gerard nudged Frank with his elbow, so Frank inched forward and reached for the buttons on Bob's shirt. Bob didn't pull away or try to stop him. He let go of the shirt and his hand drifted down to rest on Frank's arm. He was thinking very deeply -- forehead wrinkles, puckered lips and blank staring into space were involved, and it was such a Bob expression that Frank almost laughed.

"This is so weird," Ray muttered. He knelt beside Frank and caught the shirt after Frank got Bob's arms free, holding it so that it wouldn't slide all the way down. Frank stifled a possibly slightly hysterical giggle.

"No, really?" Frank said. "I hadn't fucking noticed."

He wrestled Mikey's t-shirt over Bob's head. Bob actually tried to help. He'd clearly figured out what he wanted to say to Gerard, and tugged and pulled at the shirt, trying to hurry it on. Frank finally got the opening and Bob's head aligned.

"I like Ninja Turtles," Bob said to Gerard as soon as his head was free.

Gerard nodded. "That...doesn't surprise me. We'll look for a Ninja Turtle shirt, okay?"

Mikey handed Frank a belt and Bob held his arms out obediently while Frank wound it around him. The belt had metal rivets all over it. Frank glanced over his shoulder at Mikey and raised an eyebrow. Mikey shrugged.

*

"I should have worn a hat." Ray glanced around and patted at his hair, as if he was trying to flatten it down. "People are looking."

"No fucking kidding," Frank said.

He shifted Bob more securely on his hip. Bob has his hand fisted in Frank's t-shirt at the back and his mouth pressed against Frank's arm, clinging on as they walked toward the entrance of the store. It was heartbreaking hearing his snuffling breaths and Frank glared at anyone who dared to look their way -- like they'd never seen four men and a toddler shopping before.

"Hey, Bob. You want to ride in the cart?" Gerard pulled out a cart from the corral and unfolded the seat. "You'll be able to see then, look for that Ninja Turtle shirt."

Bob loosened his grip slightly. He looked hopeful, and also frightened; Frank's heart melted again. "You want me to push you?"

"Uh uh," Bob said, his forehead creased as he looked away, the lingering fear looking so _wrong_ on his face.

"Are you sure? Frank asked, and pushed a lock of blond hair out of Bob's eyes. "Carts are for big boys."

Bob's forehead creased more as he looked at the cart and then back at Frank. "I'm a big boy."

"Yes you are," Frank said, a giggle fighting to be free. "So, you want to ride?"

Bob nodded, and Frank smiled.

They walked over to the cart and Frank lifted Bob from his hip, standing him on the seat. Eyes wide, Bob stood still, holding onto Frank's sleeve as Frank slid him into the seat.

"There you go." Frank took a half-step back and looked at Bob, at his tiny feet and chubby legs sticking from under the t-shirt and the look on his face as he wrapped his fingers around the handle of the cart, his eyes blue and wide. "That okay?"

Bob shook his head and his lip quivered.

"You want to be carried?" Gerard said, sounding concerned. He stepped forward, ready to lift out Bob.

"Noooooo!" Bob shook his head, blond hair flying. "Noooooooo!"

"Okay, okay." Gerard tucked his hands at his side, looking worried. "Are you hungry? We can get something inside."

Bob started squirming in place. "Nooooo!"

"Do you need the bathroom?" Ray looked at Frank. "You should take him, he hasn't been all morning."

"Me? Why me?" Frank protested. "Gerard can take him; he's used to stuff like that. It's what big brothers do."

"Twenty years ago maybe," Gerard said, then, at Frank's look. "Okay, fine, a few other times later than that, but being a big brother doesn't mean I'm some expert at this shit."

"And we are?" Ray said, looking pained as Bob kept shaking his head and banging his hands against the seat of the cart. "We should have phoned someone. Like his mom."

"And told her what? That her son's four again?" Frank crouched so he could look directly at Bob, trying to work out the problem. "Come on, buddy, talk to me."

"His butt's cold." Mikey squeezed between Gerard and Frank and hooked an arm around Bob. Lifting him up, Mikey smoothed down the t-shirt so it was covering the plastic seat, then sat Bob back down. "It's a bitch having bare legs."

He walked away, wrapped in a long coat and huge sunglasses, a hat pulled down low. Frank shook his head. "He never shows any skin, how...."

"I don't want to know." Gerard cut in. He pushed the cart toward Frank. "Come on, I can smell coffee."

Frank took the cart and followed Gerard, keeping his arms outstretched when Bob started to kick, his toes just missing Frank's stomach. "Clothes first, then coffee."

Gerard looked over his shoulder, eyes big and wide, but Frank looked right back, determined not to give in. "Don't even; you're an amateur compared to Bob."

Which was true, Bob had the wide-eyed look down. He was also pretending to drive the cart, his hands waving in the air as he made engine noises under his breath. Gerard didn't stand a chance. Frank grinned and leaned in close. "You want to go fast?"

For a long moment Bob looked at Frank, considering, then he nodded.

Frank grinned even wider and began to speed up, not much, just enough that Bob widened his eyes and looked down at the ground, his engine noises even louder. Frank took a corner into the store and made a screeching sound, ignoring the people who looked their way. For the first time that day, Bob laughed.

Ray hurried to catch up, holding out his hand to stop the cart. "Laughing in the face of danger, if we didn't know it was Bob before."

"He's hardcore, aren't you Bob?" Frank said, and tapped his finger against Bob's hand in a modified hi-five. "He should have biker clothes."

Vehemently, Bob shook his head. "Ninja Turtles!"

"Or Ninja Turtles," Frank corrected, then blinked when he saw Mikey standing in front of a display of magazines, sipping at a cup almost as big as his head while holding a tray holding three other cups. "You've been inside less than five minutes, and Bob can't drink coffee."

Mikey shrugged. "I know, the spare's mine." He wandered away and said over his shoulder. "The kid's stuff is this way."

*

"You know, the only one he actually wants is the Ninja Turtle one," Ray said.

"But the shark one is cool," Gerard said.

"And he liked the dinosaur one, too," Frank said. "And he likes Superman, so we had to get that one."

"And the Star Wars one is _cool_ ," Gerard said.

Ray started to say something, but then Mikey walked up and dropped a tiny black t-shirt and black zipper hoodie into the cart.

At Ray's look, Mikey raised both eyebrows cooly and said, "It's Bob."

"Okay, point," Ray said. "But -- hang on, let me get them open --"

Ray broke off as Bob tried to pry the package of crackers and the juice box out of his hands. He'd avoided the clothes shopping part of the trip by offering to go track down some kid-friendly food, and had come back to Bob dressed in size-appropriate clothing, plus a cart piled with even more clothes.

It looked a little like if Ray took much longer Bob might start chewing on Ray's hand, so Frank snagged the juice box and popped the straw into it while Ray handled the crackers.

"My point is," Ray said as he got the crackers open and safely into Bob's greedy hands. "How many clothes does he need? How long are we expecting him to be like this?"

"There's really no telling," Gerard said. They walked past a table piled with tiny-Bob-sized t-shirts decorated with video game characters, and grabbed a Sonic the Hedgehog one and a Mario Kart one. "Considering we don't know how or why this happened in the first place there's no way to guess when he'll change back."

Ray stared at him. "And that doesn't worry you?"

Gerard gave him a 'duh' look. "Sure. We're supposed to be in Arizona for a show tomorrow night and our drummer is three feet tall and the only song he knows is the theme song from the Ninja Turtles cartoon." Then he shrugged. "On the other hand, Bob is not dead, dying or deathly ill or injured in some painful or terrifying way. So. Could be worse."

They all looked at Bob. He had on a yellow Ninja Turtle shirt that was a couple of sizes too big (because it was the only one left that had the turtle with the _swords_ , and he had to have the one with the _swords_ ), gray sweatpants, Ninja Turtle socks, and they'd even found Ninja Turtle underwear.

(Frank was still boggling a little at how incredibly small the socks and underwear were. How had any of them ever been that small? He'd always been relatively small-ish, but he was pretty sure he'd never been _that_ small.)

Bob also had cracker crumbs spilling down his shirt because he was distractedly stuffing crackers into his mouth and chewing with his mouth open while he listened to them talk.

"Dude, not all at one time," Frank said.

He swapped Bob the juice box for the crackers. Mikey was there with a wet wipe to scrub Bob's crumby free hand while Bob set to draining the juice box without pausing for a breath.

They had gotten a huge box of wet wipes during a detour through the infant aisle. There'd been a little uncertainty about whether or not Bob would need shit like sippy cups or pull-ups or, like, a crib. Because he was four, yes, but he was _so fucking small_ and none of them had the first clue what the learning curve was for children that small. Bob had set them straight with a dark glare that was nearly as effective on tiny Bob as it was on normal-sized Bob, and a pointed "That's for babies. I'm not a baby."

"Oh for --" Frank tugged the juice box out of Bob's hand, too; Bob let it go, gasping like a landed fish. "There's more, okay? You don't have to inhale it all right this second."

He thought he'd be in for a fight, since he'd just stolen Bob's crackers _and_ juice box, but something more exciting than food distracted Bob at that moment.

Somehow they'd reached the toy aisles without any of them noticing. Except for Bob. Of course.

In the split second it took for Frank to realize he had his hands full of half-finished kid food and therefore no hands free to grab the actual kid, Bob had scrambled to his knees on the seat and lunged for the edge of the cart.

"Holy shit --" Frank said. He froze, clutching the crackers and juice box reflexively. Ray and Mikey were on the wrong side of the cart and neither of them could reach Bob in time, although Ray nearly knocked the cart over trying.

And honestly, Frank wasn't sure which part of what happened next surprised him more: the fact that Gerard managed to catch Bob before he landed headfirst on the floor, or the fact that Gerard dropped his coffee to do it.

For a long moment, they all stood there staring at each other. Coffee soaked into Gerard's shoes and spread slowly across the floor under the cart. Bob clung to Gerard's neck, not saying a word about how tight Gerard's arms were around him. He had a look on his face like he knew he was in trouble and was just waiting for the yelling to start.

"Wow," Ray said finally.

"Nice fucking reflexes," Frank said.

Mikey wordlessly walked around the cart.

"Dude," he said, quietly but with feeling, and held his coffee out to Gerard.

Taking the coffee, Gerard took a long drink, then solemnly handed it back before seating Bob in the cart. Bob sat still and quiet, a tiny boy backed by a giant multicolored stack of clothes.

"Bob, what you just did was wrong," Gerard said. He crouched down a little so he was on Bob's level. "You could have been hurt and that would have been bad. We hate seeing you hurt, it makes us sad."

Bob's face crumpled a little and he mumbled, "Didn't mean to."

"I know," Gerard said, "But you did, and you need to learn actions have consequences."

"I wanted the sword, like 'Nardo." Bob's chin was tucked close to his chest, and when he looked up his eyes were wet with tears. "Sorry."

"Good, it's good you're sorry," Gerard said, and took the wipe Mikey handed him, using it to clean Bob's cheeks. When Bob was pink-faced and weakly protesting, Gerard crumpled up the wipe and shoved it in his pocket. "Show me the sword you wanted? But like a big boy, one that sits still."

Bob nodded enthusiastically and pointed across the aisle.

"That one! 'Nardo has them! He hits with them. Stab! Stab! Stab!"

Each word was accompanied by a jab of Bob's hand, and Gerard ran his fingers through his hair and chewed on his lip.

"I don't know if we should encourage this." Pushing the cart to Ray, Gerard crossed the aisle and picked up a floppy pink plushie rabbit. "What about this instead?"

"That's for girls," Bob said, sounding disgusted. "I'm a _boy_ , I can show you!"

"No," Ray said quickly. He put his hand on Bob's, stopping him from pulling at his pants. "We know you're a boy, Gerard's getting the swords, aren't you Gerard?"

Gerard did get the swords. They also got five mini motorized cars, a giant bouncy ball, a 'my first race car' set, a baseball and mitt, a toy drum set, three plastic guitars, a plastic Jabba the Hutt, five water guns and a cuddly stuffed cat.

The cat was blue and therefore for boys. Bob said so.

*

Ray had a toy guitar looped over his shoulder and five huge bags at his feet. "I think we got a little carried away."

"A little?" Frank said, setting down his own bags.

"We needed it all," Gerard said.

"Will the ball even fit inside?" Mikey wondered, looking from the ball to the bus door.

"'Nardo attack!" Bob yelled, and swiped his swords through the air, barely missing Ray's knees.

"Bob," Frank said, using his stern voice, which was enough to make him laugh. Until this morning he hadn't even known he _had_ a stern voice. Somehow it had appeared from nowhere, probably inbred from generations of Ireos. "No hitting at people, we talked about this."

Bob dropped the swords and looked up at Frank. "Sorry. Sorry Mr. Ray."

"Shit, don't call me that," Ray said. "That's like, you're Bob."

Bob screwed up his face and looked intently at Ray before wandering over to Gerard, tugging at his hand until Gerard crouched down. "I think Mr. Ray needs a nap, he thinks I forgot my name."

Mouth twitching, Gerard said. "I think you're right."

"He needs a blankie," Bob said. "And a blue cat."

"Very important things for a nap," Gerard said seriously. "Want to help me find them?"

Bob yawned and scrubbed at his eyes. "Can I take my 'Nardo swords?"

"Of course," Gerard said.

*

Once the bus was back on the interstate, they got Bob tucked into his own bunk for a nap. With no tiny Bob to chase around, Frank suddenly had no idea what to do with himself. He flopped onto the couch beside Mikey and stared out the window at the afternoon sky drifting by.

"Somebody really needs to call Brian," Mikey said.

"And tell him what?" Frank said. Because, seriously. He'd just spent a quarter of an hour singing the ABC song with Gerard to get Bob settled enough to sleep and _he_ hardly believed this whole thing was real.

"That Bob is four," Gerard said from Mikey's other side.

"Right," Frank said. "Of course. He'll definitely believe that." He leaned forward to look around Mikey and check to make sure Gerard was serious. "You're fucking serious. How can you be serious?"

"He'll believe it." Gerard tilted his head back on the couch to look upside down at Ray, slouched against the counter in the kitchenette. "If Ray tells him."

Ray's eyebrows shot up. "Me? I'm not telling him! I mean, come on. Something like this -- he's not going to believe anyone, not even me."

Mikey drifted up off the couch. His eyes were glued to his phone and his thumbs were flying as he texted somebody.

"You tell him, and then I'll explain it," he said.

He started navigating through the bags and bags of stuff they'd bought at the store without taking his eyes off his phone. Ray lunged forward to grab his arm and steer him around the giant bouncy ball.

"How is that going to make a difference?" Ray said, exasperated. Before Mikey could answer, Ray raised a hand. "Wait, you know what, fuck it. Fine. I'll tell him and then he's all yours."

He motioned Mikey toward the back of the bus.

"But let's make it quick, okay, because --" Ray broke off. His shoulders slumped and his expression turned bleak. "Well, shit."

Mikey looked up from his phone. "What?"

Ray shook his head. "I was going to say, let's make it quick because me and Bob planned to mess around with that new Sessions program I got. But. I guess we won't do that today."

Mikey's mouth twisted a little, but he didn't say anything. He trailed after Ray to the back lounge, and when the door closed behind them, Frank and Gerard stared at each other.

Finally Gerard sighed and dug his cigarettes and lighter out of his back pocket. He fished a cigarette out of the crumpled packet and offered the pack to Frank. Frank took a cigarette, gladly. He definitely needed nicotine.

Gerard flicked the lighter on, but then froze and let the flame go out.

"Wait," he said. He took the unlit cigarette out of his mouth. "We can't smoke in here."

Frank stared at him. "Why the hell not?"

Gerard wobbled his head jerkily until Frank figured out he was motioning toward where Bob slept in the bunk.

"Oh come on," Frank said. "Bob smokes. He's fucking worse than I am about it."

"He doesn't smoke _now_ ," Gerard said. "He has little, healthy, smoke-free lungs. We might fuck them up."

Frank grabbed the lighter from Gerard's hand and lit his own cigarette.

"Hopefully in a very short time," Frank said, taking a quick drag and blowing it out. "He'll have bigger, less healthy, tar-filled lungs. Seriously, chill the fuck out."

He tossed the lighter back to Gerard. Gerard caught it, but just sat and fiddled with it.

"I don't know. What if. What if it turns out it's our fault he started smoking in the first place?"

Squinting at Gerard through the curls of smoke rising off his cigarette, Frank tried to untangle that one.

"Okay," he said. "You got me. How the hell could that possibly be our fault?"

Gesturing toward the bunks again, this time with the unlit cigarette, Gerard said, "Think about it. What if Bob didn't get younger? What if he, like, swapped places with his younger self? His four year old self is here, learning bad habits like swearing and smoking from us, while the Bob we know is back home. Probably scaring the shit out of his parents and getting arrested on suspicion of kidnapping himself, actually…"

Gerard trailed off, looking increasingly alarmed at whatever else he was imagining. Frank rolled his eyes and socked Gerard in the arm.

"Ow," Gerard said. He threw the cigarette at Frank's head. "I'm serious."

"I know you are," Frank said. He scrounged around under the couch until he found one of their dozen ashtrays. "But come on. What do you even call that? It's not regular time travel. Time…swapping? There's not even a name for it."

Gerard scrunched up his face. "Just because there's not a name for it doesn't mean it's not possible." Then his face unscrunched and paled. "Oh shit. I just thought of something worse."

"Worse than Bob possibly in jail getting beat up by gangbangers for being a creepy pedo back in 1984 or whenever?"

Gerard shot Frank a horrified look. "Don't even joke about that, seriously."

"Oh god." Frank couldn't help a short laugh. It wasn't like he and Gerard had never had weird-ass conversations like this before. It was just that usually they were talking about _hypothetical_ situations. "Fine, sorry. Just, tell me what's worse."

"What if this is permanent?" Gerard said. "What if whatever happened isn't going to be reversed? What if Bob is doing childhood all over again and we're looking at fourteen years playing My Four Dads or some shit?"

They stared at each other again.

"Fuck this," Gerard muttered, and shook another cigarette out. "I need a fucking smoke, man."

He lit up, sucked in a lungful, and choked.

"Oh shit," Frank said. He sat up and fumbled for one of the Cokes on the coffee table. "Breathe, dude. Here."

Gerard took the Coke, but stuffed it between his legs to hold it and shook his head. Eyes streaming, he grabbed the ashtray and ground out his cigarette and then pointed agitatedly past Frank. Frank turned.

"Oh shit," he said again. He put out his cigarette too and flapped his hand, trying to disperse the smoke. "Bob, hey, we thought you were sleeping."

Bob stood at the other side of the kitchenette. He was wearing the red flannel shirt again. They were hoping that he'd turn back to regular Bob sometime during the nap, and figured that gaining twenty plus years and however many inches and pounds while wearing size four toddler clothes would be uncomfortable. They'd told him the shirt was his pajamas; amazingly, he hadn't argued.

Unlike earlier that morning, he wasn't freaking out. The blue stuffed cat and the blanket they'd gotten him were clutched to his chest in one hand, and one of the Ninja Turtle swords trailed from his other hand.

"Are you okay?" Frank said. "Did you need something?"

Bob didn't answer right away. He eyed Gerard uncertainly while Gerard wheezed and gasped, only relaxing and looking back at Frank when Gerard started breathing a little more normally.

"I shouldn't sleep in that bed," Bob said.

Frank blinked at him. A glance at Gerard got a red-faced, watery-eyed shrug.

"Why not?" Frank said.

"It's too hard." Bob paused. Frank could have sworn it was for effect, but four year olds didn't have dramatic timing figured out. Right? "It's so hard I could get hurt."

Frank looked at Gerard again. "O…kay." He turned back to Bob. "So. Where should you sleep then?"

Bob sucked on his bottom lip, chewing it a little while he put on a show of thinking really hard. His gaze drifted up to the ceiling, trailed along the bank of windows, and finally landed on the couch.

Frank didn't bother hiding his grin. He patted the couch. "Okay, come on."

Bob's slippers flap-flapped on the sticky linoleum as he shuffled through the kitchenette to the couch. The slippers were not Ninja Turtle slippers; the store hadn't had that kind. Bob had had to settle with Superman slippers.

When he got to the couch he hesitated, quietly examining Gerard again.

"I'm okay," Gerard said. He was wheezing less. A little less, anyway. He took another drink of the Coke and cleared his throat noisily. "Just. Breathed the wrong way."

Still watching Gerard, Bob inched forward and let Frank pull him up between them on the couch. His slippers dropped off his feet with a pair of little _thunks_.

"You want me to get you a pillow?" Frank said.

Bob shook his head. He leaned over to Gerard. Untangling the stuffed cat from his blanket, he set it in Gerard's lap.

"What's this for?" Gerard said.

"To help you feel better," Bob said. Without waiting for a response he turned and shoved his blanket into a bundle on Frank's lap and flopped over sideways with his head on it.

For a little while they were all quiet. Bob started out with his knees curled up to his chest, but he slowly stretched out until his feet were in Gerard's lap. He made soft sounds now and then. Frank thought he was maybe whispering to himself, too softly for Frank to make out what he was saying over the rumble of the bus. Frank guessed it had something to do with Ninja Turtles and stabbing, though. Occasionally Bob would lift the Ninja Turtle sword and twitch it in the air, usually at some point when the sporadic whispering kicked up a notch.

Finally Bob settled. When he'd been still and silent long enough that Frank thought he'd fallen asleep, Frank brought a hand up and rested it on Bob's slender little shoulder. He glanced up at Gerard and saw him watching Bob too. He looked like he was going to explode.

Frank snickered. "Oh, just say it."

A goofy grin spread on Gerard's face. "Jesus, he's so fucking _cute_."

"'m not cute," Bob slurred. He twitched restlessly onto his back, his feet kicking briefly in Gerard's lap. His eyes were closed but he had a scowl on his face. "Not."

Frank stared at the ceiling and Gerard kept a hand clapped over his own mouth until the scowl faded and Bob was boneless and fast asleep. Then they looked at each other and did _not_ crack up. But only barely.

*

Half an hour and Bob was still asleep. Needing a distraction Frank grabbed the bags of clothes and started to sort them into piles -- a _lot_ of piles, and jesus, where the fuck did the tiny sparkly rainbow shirt come from? Folding up a pair of cargo shorts he set them aside and glanced over at Gerard, who was still sitting with the blue cat in his lap, staring at Bob.

"He's not going to explode, you know."

"I know," Gerard said. "Just, look at him."

Frank braced his hand between a pile of tiny undies and a bigger one of t-shirts and leaned over Gerard so he could look at Bob. Bob lay flat on his back with his mouth slightly open, his fingers twitching against the handle of the sword. He looked sleep-flushed and adorable, and Frank could understand the compulsion to sit and stare.

"I was thinking," Gerard said, running his fingers over the soft back of the cat. "What if he did this himself?"

Frank looked up. "The fuck? Bob wouldn't magic himself to being a kid."

Gerard shook his head. "I know, it sounds fucking insane, but think about it. He's four; all he has to do is eat and play."

"And bathe and shit," Frank added.

"Well, yeah, that." Gerard waved his hand airily. "I thought it was a curse at first, and Mikey said something in the water, but this makes more sense. He's taking a break."

"A break where he's a four year old kid? Because that happens."

"It could if you need it enough, and lately..." Gerard hesitated a moment. "You know how it's been, with the tour and shit."

Frank did know and it made a horrible kind of sense, because this was _Bob_ with his heightened sense of responsibility, stoicism and inability to say stop. He sighed. "He couldn't have taken a vacation?"

"He sort of has," Gerard stopped talking when Bob mumbled under his breath and half-opened his eyes, looking out at them from behind white-blond lashes. Gerard smiled, said, "Hey, Bob."

Still half-asleep, Bob started struggling inside the giant red shirt. "Need to go potty. Now."

"Okay, hold on," Gerard said, avoiding the plastic sword as he pulled the shirt straight and sat Bob at the back of the couch. Grabbing the Superman slippers, Gerard slipped them onto Bob's feet. "There you go, Frank will take you."

"Pussy," Frank said, but stood as Bob wiggled to the ground and stood dancing from foot to foot. "This way."

Bob held up his hand and Frank took it, wrapping his fingers around Bob's as they made their way to the bathroom. Pushing open the door Frank looked inside, checking it was suitable for innocent eyes. Thankfully, apart from a pile of dirty socks and underwear, it looked fine. "Do you want me to wait outside?"

Bob looked at the toilet, and his face went red as he opened his mouth, obviously about to cry.

"You want me to stay with you?" Frank asked, frantically trying to remember when he'd gone to the bathroom on his own. It had been forever ago, though, and Bob was dancing in place, tears brimming.

"Nooooooooo!" One of the tears slid down Bob's cheek. "I can't reach!"

Feeling stupid, Frank realized the problem. "One second, okay? I'll be right back." Throwing himself into the bunk area he pulled back curtains until he found something that would work -- a tool box-come-make up case that Frank placed in front of the toilet. "Do you need any help?"

Bob gave Frank a scornful look as he clambered onto the box and hitched up the shirt. "I'm a big boy."

Frank bit back a laugh and turned his back.

*  
"Brian says, and this is a direct quote, we're all fucking fuckers who need to stop fucking around and get our fucking fingers out of our fucking asses and stop pissing off fucking witches who turn our fucking drummer into a fucking kid." Ray cast an apologetic look at Bob, who was sitting on a blanket that had been spread on the floor, the contents of the bags of toys surrounding him.

"It took him an hour to say that?" Gerard said, trying to tug a car from its packaging.

"No," Ray said. "He said all that in the first minute I called him. The rest was Mikey explaining things."

Frank dumped a can of Spaghetti-Os into a bowl and gave them a stir before putting them into the microwave. Then picked up a loaf of whole wheat bread and took out a slice to cut into fingers. "How did he do that?"

Ray dropped down on the couch, slumping next to Gerard. "I stopped listening after the first ten minutes of magic and transformations and believing in shit."

"Fucking thing, why does it need screws attaching it anyway?" Gerard shook the car and then looked sideways at Ray. "You have to believe in shit, it's how magic happens."

"I'm not disputing that," Ray said wearily.

"So, Brian thinks we've all gone insane," Frank said, putting the bread fingers onto a plastic pirate plate �" it didn't have Turtles but it had _swords_ , therefore was Bob-approved.

"No, he believed us," Ray said. "Once Mikey told him to call Pete."

"Of course," Gerard muttered darkly. "Of course it would be fucking Pete."

"Apparently this has happened before, and Pete knew about it, so..." Ray shrugged and slid down even further in his seat, so his head rested against the window. "Brian's making some calls; he'll be in touch soon."

Gerard shook the car again and started to tear at the cardboard attached to the bottom. "I suppose Mikey's talking to Pete."

"Was talking," Mikey said, walking through the kitchenette. He sank to the floor next to Bob. "What're you playing?"

Bob was wearing the too-big Ninja Turtle t-shirt again, along with a pair of cargo shorts, a sparkly blue belt and a pair of striped socks. Toys surrounded him and he looked shyly at Mikey. "Turtles."

"Yeah?" Mikey folded himself forward, chin on his hands as he looked at the toys. "This is their fort, right?"

"Yes." Bob smiled, wide and happy. "They live underground but this is their upground fort. They fight, against mean people. Like this." He stabbed the swords at the giant ball, sending it rolling across the bus with a triumphant cry.

"Way to go, Leonardo," Mikey said, and Bob looked at him, all big-eyed and solemn.

"You can be Nafiel."

Mikey grinned. "I'm in."

*

At some point during Mikey and Bob's epic Ninja Turtle battle against Shredder (a.k.a. Gerard), it occurred to Frank what a prime opportunity they had there, and he dug out his camera.

"That's kind of not fair," Gerard noted later as Frank took somewhere around his thirtieth picture.

Tiny Bob didn't like cameras any more than regular-sized Bob. On the other hand, tiny Bob could be told "no, Bob, hitting is _wrong_ ," and he had to listen.

"Totally not fair," Frank agreed, grinning, and snapped another picture.

Bob did come up with some non-violent ways of trying to avoid having his picture taken -- Frank had tons of pictures with, for example, Bob's blue eyes peeking out from behind his crossed Ninja Turtle swords, or Spaghetti-O-covered Bob with his chin down to his chest peeking up from behind his bangs. Unfortunately, those pictures were disgustingly cute, which just made everybody want to take more pictures of everything he did.

"He's going to hate us when he changes back," Ray said, handing the camera back to Frank. Bob lowered his toy drum from in front of his face, shooting a dark glare at Ray before dropping the drum and going back to whaling away on it.

"No," Mikey said. He had a few pictures he'd taken with his camera phone, and he was scrolling through them with what on anyone else would be disinterest but on Mikeyway was diabolical. "He is going to be our _slave_."

"Forever," Frank said.

Gerard was the only one not taking pictures, mostly because he was doodling little Bob-sketches on every available scrap of paper and cardboard. Bob didn't realize that, though, and eventually he started hiding behind Gerard whenever anyone else was nearby just in case they might be hiding a camera. Playing with Bob was actually more fun than stalking him with a camera, though, so eventually they stopped taking pictures. Overtly, anyway. Mikey had his phone out all the time while he texted, and managed to aim and shoot now and then without Bob noticing.

Dinnertime rolled around when the bus was somewhere just shy of Oklahoma's panhandle. Dave called back from the cockpit of the bus to let them know there was a McDonald's coming up and the billboard was advertising a Play Place.

"Plaaaaaaaaay, play play play play," Bob howled, yanking excitedly on Ray's arm while Ray tried to talk to Dave. "I like hangburgers with cheese and musser'd and ketchup an' pickles an' root beer --"

"I think that's a yes on the McDonald's, Dave," Ray said.

"-- an' frank fries --"

"Frank fries?" Gerard said, grinning.

"Well, I am both tasty and bad for you," Frank said.

" -- an' ice cream and the slide --" Bob cut off abruptly. He looked up at Ray. "Is there a slide?"

"I dunno, little man," Ray said, ruffling Bob's hair. "We'll find out pretty soon. Hey, you want some help with your shoes?"

Frank wasn't sure when Ray had finally succumbed to the cuteness of Bob instead of being weirded out. He suspected it was when Bob saw Ray noodling around on his guitar earlier. Bob had run to get one of the toy ones and sat down beside Ray. He didn't bug Ray with questions, just tried to imitate Ray and listened very seriously when Ray explained things to him. Ray was practically cooing at him by the end of it.

Frank and Mikey had gotten a couple dozen pictures of that at _least_. So fucking cute.

*

Not only did the McDonald's have a slide, it had one of those huge play areas that needed an entire separate room of its own. They barely managed to keep Bob in his booster seat ( _booster seat_ \-- Frank almost died laughing) long enough to eat before finally letting him race off to play.

The tunnels, slides and little towers kept him occupied for more than an hour. He didn't actually try to make friends with any of the other little kids, but it was like they were just drawn to him. At some point he ended up being the kid who untangled bottlenecks at the top of the slide; he didn't make up the games, but he was the kid consulted on what rules were fair or not; he was also the kid the even tinier kids hid behind until their parents could intervene when the bigger kids got too rowdy.

"He started young, didn't he," Gerard said.

"Seriously," Frank said, shaking his head. "Hey, which kid were you? When you were that age?" Frank pointed at one of the little ones as she ran shrieking past a group of kids, whacking them each on the head as she went. "That was me. Except not in pink Hannah Montana overalls."

Gerard grinned. "I was that one," he said, picking out the kid who clutched his head and started crying, and ran over to hide behind Bob. Bob patted the kid's head gently, but distractedly because he was also trying to stack up the Ronald and Hamburglar blocks in a meticulous pyramid. "Until I got a little older and Mikey was around, and then I was that kid." He pointed at the boy who stuck a foot out as the girl ran past for the second time and tripped her.

"We were little shits, weren't we," Frank said.

"Were?" Gerard said and shoved Frank off his chair.

"You bastard," Frank said.

Frank managed to get Gerard pinned on the floor in the middle of the play area and sit on his head before the restaurant manager came out and told them that if they didn't settle down he'd have to ask them to leave. Ray pretended he didn't know them and Mikey rolled his eyes a lot. Bob laughed so hard as they flailed around on the floor that Frank was afraid he might throw up, though, so Frank counted it as a win.

Before they left, Bob begged and pleaded and gave them the big sad eyes until they caved and got him an ice cream cone.

That was a mistake.

"How the hell did you get ice cream down your underpants?" Frank said.

They were back on the bus and on their way. Frank had peeled the damp, sticky t-shirt and shorts off of Bob, intending to just wipe him down and put clean clothes on him, but no. The kid had managed to get ice cream everywhere. Not only all over his face and hands and arms; his chest and stomach were sticky too, and honest to fucking god he'd managed to get a blob of soggy ice cream cone smushed in the waistband of his underpants.

"How?" Frank repeated.

Bob sucked on his sticky fingers and pulled the waistband out, examining the elastic. He appeared just as bewildered as Frank. Pulling his fingers out of his mouth he looked at Frank.

"Are you mad?"

"No, no, I'm not mad. Pretty fucking impressed, but not mad," Frank said. He sighed and looked at Gerard, sitting beside them on the bunk holding the clean change of clothes. "This is going to take more than a shit-ton of baby wipes, isn't it."

Gerard grimaced. "The shower stall isn't exactly made for bathing toddlers."

Bob let out a horrified squeak. "No! I don't want a bath!"

He tried to fling himself off the bunk, but Frank caught him around the (sticky) waist.

"You have ice cream in your _underwear_ , dude," Frank said firmly. "You need a fucking bath."

Bob wriggled and kicked and screeched, trying to get out of Frank's arms. A flailing hand whacked Frank in the chin.

"Maybe we could do this with baby wipes after all," he said to Gerard.

"No!" Bob wailed. "I'm not a baby!"

Frank rolled his eyes, but before he could respond to that Mikey stuck his head out from the back room.

"Hey," he said. He paused and raised an eyebrow at Bob. Bob saw it; he didn't stop squirming but he stopped yelling, splitting his attention between trying to escape and keeping a wary eye on Mikey.

"I just talked to Brian again," Mikey said. "He said that if Bob isn't himself by noon tomorrow we'll need to call the show. He also said not to call him until Bob grows up or noon rolls around, whichever comes first, and that we're all fucking insane, but that Pete is even more fucking insane." Mikey grinned smugly at that last item and ducked back into room, closing the door behind him.

Gerard sighed. He didn't say anything, but Frank knew how much he hated canceling a show. They all hated canceling shows.

Including Bob, usually.

Frank looked down at Bob. He had the sudden urge to shake him and _demand_ he change back, but he knew all that would get him was a terrified four-year-old and a lot of crying. He scowled. "You're definitely getting a bath now, buddy."

Letting out a wordless howl, Bob pulled some crazy ninja toddler move and slithered out of Frank's grip, racing away through the kitchenette. Frank heard Ray yelp from the TV lounge.

"There is a Bob in _nothing but underwear_ in here, guys," Ray yelled. "This makes me very uncomfortable!"

"Hide, Mr. Ray," Bob shrieked. "I don't want a bath!"

"We should make Ray give him the bath," Frank said. He was only half joking. Wrangling a toddler all day was fucking exhausting. Especially when the toddler was one of his best friends who Frank really, really wanted back to normal, and not just so they wouldn't have to cancel any shows.

"Not going to happen," Demonstrating his impressive bat hearing, Ray appeared in the doorway, looking perturbed. "I can't see Bob naked."

"And we can?" Frank shot back.

But someone had to do it and he wearily pushed past Ray to look in the bathroom -- the bathroom with a compact shower stall that held no water at all. Briefly Frank considered modifying it somehow, plugging the drain or using some kind of container, then froze in place, remembering watching a relative's baby be bathed in a sink. Spinning around, he looked toward the kitchenette and their own sink, smaller than standard and grimy, the sides coated with spills. It would be big enough for Bob; just.

"I'm going to clean this," Frank said, and dubiously poked at the dish cloth before picking it up, then set it back down so he could empty the sink of seven mugs, two knives, twelve plastic sporks and a rubber snake. "We live like fucking animals."

"Worse than," Gerard said and gathered up all the sporks, dropping them in the trash. "You think Bob will fit in there?"

Frank picked up the dish cloth and started scrubbing at the sides of the sink. "He's small, and bends."

"I guess," Gerard said, looking dubious, but Frank had a lifetime of being small and fitting into spaces he shouldn't. He knew Bob would fit.

"We need bubbles." Frank put in the plug and turned on the water, being careful it wasn't too hot. "Baths are better with bubbles."

"We have a shower," Gerard pointed out. He bit on his bottom lip, teeth digging in. "What about shampoo? That shit should bubble."

Frank swished his hand through the water, testing the temperature. "It's that or detergent."

Gerard walked away. "I'll get the shampoo."

A minute later and Gerard was back, holding a giant bottle of shampoo. He unscrewed the top and poured in a large amount, then swished the water, soaking his sleeve. "I got Ray's, I figured the expensive shit would make good bubbles."

"Good call," Frank said, watching as the bubbles expanded upwards. "Now you need Bob."

"Me?" Gerard exclaimed. "I got the shampoo, and you're more Bob's speed."

Which normally was true, but Frank was tired and the thought of chasing Bob around the bus doesn't appeal. Still, he rubbed his damp hands on the front of his t-shirt and went to find Bob.

"I'm not going in the bath!" Bob yelled as soon as he saw Frank. Bob was clinging onto one of Mikey's legs, looking defiant and immovable with both feet planted firmly on the ground and his fingers dug into Mikey's knee. "I don't wanna!"

"You don't have a choice," Frank said, and scowled at Ray, who was sitting watching TV and pointedly ignoring the standoff. For good measure Frank also scowled at Mikey, who hadn't stop texting, even when Bob tried to hide between his legs. "You could help."

"I am," Mikey said. "I'm keeping him here, aren't I?"

"I'm hiding!" Bob shrieked when Frank took a step closer. "You can't see me!"

Frank bit the inside of his cheek to stop laughing as Bob peered around Mikey's thigh, exposing one blue eye and a lot of blond hair. "Sorry buddy, you just gave yourself away."

"Did not." Bob glared at Frank, and when Frank moved closer shuffled around Mikey's legs. Frank took a step to the side, Bob shuffled more until inevitably it ended with Bob going in a circle, his hands always against Mikey's legs, while Frank chased him around, hunched down so he could pass under Mikey's arms. Eventually, when Bob began to slow, Frank made to grab him and Bob dug in his hands and screamed. "Noooo!"

"Bob." Mikey raised an eyebrow and looked down at Bob. "You're hurting my ears."

Bob pressed closer to Mikey's legs, still glaring at Frank, said sullenly. "I don't want a bath."

"When I was a kid I didn't like baths either," Mikey said, and jammed his phone into his back pocket.

"Baths are icky," Bob said, his face screwed up.

"Yeah," Mikey said, and ignored the way Frank was scowling, because this? Not helping at all. "But you know what made them better? Stories."

"Three bears?" Bob said, looking interested.

"Better," Mikey said. "Gerard would tell stories just for me, ones about monsters and unicorns and magic."

"Arghhhhh!" Bob growled and waved one hand. "I like monsters; I think cat would like a story about monsters."

"Cats like stories," Mikey said. "But bath first, then Gerard will tell you a story."

Bob looked up. "Prmis?"

"Cross my heart," Mikey said, and lifted up his foot. "Want a lift there?"

Solemnly, Bob nodded and stood on Mikey's foot while hanging tight to his leg. "Ready."

"Ready," Mikey said, his legs wide apart and taking short strides as he headed for the kitchenette.

"How the fuck did he become the play guy and I get to insist on baths," Frank said, watching Bob giggle.

Ray looked away from his show, deciding to pay attention. "Well, if you will demand good hygiene."

Frank didn't throw something at Ray, but it was close.

At the sink, Mikey had set Bob on the counter.

"You'll tell me and cat a story about monsters?" Bob said, peering intently at Gerard. Taking the opportunity while Bob was distracted, Frank sneaked close and eased off the Ninja Turtle underwear, averting his eyes as he helped Bob into the water.

"Sure," Gerard said, staying close despite the water that slopped over the side of the sink "Anything you'd like to hear?"

"Cat likes monsters, they go ARGHHHH!" Bob slapped down his hands, sending water and bubbles cascading toward the floor.

Gerard wiped bubbles off his chest. "I know lots of stories about monsters."

Frank moved in with a sponge. "And he'll tell you them when you're clean."

Eyebrows drawn together, Bob looked at Frank through a mound of bubbles, his knees bent up and hair clinging damply to his face. Unable to help himself, Frank set down the sponge and went for his camera.

When he got back, Gerard had taken over the bathing. Bob held his head tilted back as Gerard worked sudsy shampoo into his hair, keeping the soap out of his eyes.

" -- and lions, blue ones like cat?"

Gerard nodded. "Those ones will be the heroes. They'll fight the monsters."

He let go of Bob's head and grabbed a clean coffee mug. While he filled it with water Bob lifted a couple of handfuls of soap bubbles and patted them on his cheeks.

"Look," he said. "I'm a lion!"

Damn straight Frank took a picture of that.

Bob didn't even notice; he was busy snarling and diligently replacing any lion's-mane suds that got washed away when Gerard rinsed his hair with cupfuls of water. Occasionally he'd growl things like "you're the monster, I'll eat you," and swipe at Gerard with a soapy hand, flinging bubbles and water everywhere. Between that and the fact that Gerard started laughing and couldn't stop, the bath took a while and ended with most of the water out of the sink and all over the counter and floor.

Frank got a fuckload of pictures of all of that, too.

Finally Gerard called for a towel. Frank stashed the camera in a cupboard and pulled a mostly clean towel from the shower curtain bar in the bathroom.

They ended up standing Bob on the bench seat at the table to dry him off, since the counter was too slippery. He stood wrapped up in the towel, quizzing Gerard about the story he was going to tell -- "are there any dragons? Is one of the monsters red? I like red. Do the monsters live in the jungle? If they live in the ocean can the sharks help the lions eat them?"

When Frank tugged a corner of the towel up to scrub over Bob's hair Bob broke off talking. He let out a long, goofy "uhhhhhhh" that looped and skipped as Frank made his head wobble. When he finally had to take a breath it turned into a huge yawn.

"Are you tired, buddy?" Frank said.

"No," Bob said. He rubbed an eye with a little fist and blinked at Frank. "Not tired. I want the story. It's going to have blue lions and red monsters and --"

\-- then he was off rambling again.

Frank looked at him, though, and noticed that despite the fact that he was talking a mile a minute he was also staring blearily at a point just past Frank's left ear.

"He looks tired," Gerard said softly.

"It's, like, eight o'clock," Frank said. "How can he be tired?"

"Well," Gerard said, getting to his feet. "He's four, and he's had a really busy day."

Bob's ramble trailed off when Gerard ducked back to the bunks. He stared blankly after him and yawned again.

"Hey, maybe you and Gerard can sit in your bunk for the story," Frank said.

"Not tired," Bob said automatically. He rested a hand on Frank's shoulder to steady himself when he rubbed his eyes again.

Frank grinned. "I know. But you can pull the curtain and it will be like you're in a secret hideout."

He got up and sat on the edge of the bench. Bob immediately climbed into his lap, holding the damp towel around himself and leaning his head against Frank's chest.

"Like the Ninja Turtles?" he said.

"Exactly like that," Frank said. He could feel his shirt getting damp where Bob's head rested, but he kind of didn't care.

Gerard came back then. He paused when he saw them, and then shifted direction just a little.

"The red shirt is kind of gross," he said. He nonchalantly opened the cupboard and snagged Frank's camera. "So I grabbed something else for him to sleep in."

He sidled around just enough to get both Frank and Bob in the frame, but not enough for Bob to see the camera unless he lifted his head up and looked. Frank hid a smile against the top of Bob's head, and then after Gerard snapped the picture he said in a sing-song voice, "He is going to _kiiiiiill_ you."

"I don't even caaaare," Gerard sing-songed back. He shoved the camera back into the cupboard, and held up normal-sized-Bob's green Ninja Turtle hoodie. "Instead of the red shirt," he said.

"That's appropriate," Frank laughed.

"I thought so," Gerard said.

The zipped Bob into the hoodie. It was a little difficult since Bob was already falling asleep and doing a limp noodle impression on Frank's lap. When they tried to tuck him into the bunk alone, thinking he was so far gone he wouldn't wake up enough to remember the story, he latched onto Gerard's hand and pried his eyes open.

"Mikey said," Bob said. He sounded betrayed and desolate, and Frank knew he wasn't actually trying to break any hearts but wow was he doing it anyway. "Mikey permis'd --" The words got lost in another yawn, but he tugged on Gerard's hand forlornly.

Gerard was already scooting into the bunk beside him. "Okay, you're right, you were promised a story."

"You are such a sucker," Frank said, snickering. Not like he wasn't melting like a big sappy dumbass too, but still.

"Fuck you, and go get his cat and his blankie," Gerard said, grinning as he slouched at the head of the bunk. Bob rolled over, slinging an arm over Gerard's chest and a leg over Gerard's thigh.

"Red mons'rs," he mumbled into Gerard's shoulder. "An' blue. An' blue."

"Lions," Gerard said. "I remember."

Mikey followed Frank back when Frank brought the cat and the blanket. When they got there, though, there was no storytelling going on. Bob was fast asleep, and Gerard was just sitting there, running his fingers through Bob's still-damp hair.

"Aw man," Mikey said. He hooked a hand on the frame of the upper bunk and leaned down a little. "I wanted to hear the story."

Gerard smiled beatifically at him. "Well, if you're good and you take a bath in the sink too, I promise I'll tell you a story at bedtime."

Mikey snorted. "Don't think I won't. You tell good fucking stories."

"If you fall asleep like that and he changes back in the middle of the night," Frank said. "That's not going to be too comfortable."

Gerard shrugged with the shoulder not being used as a pillow. He took the cat and let Frank spread the blanket over the both of them.

"I'll get up in a bit." Gerard glanced at Bob. "I'm trying to keep a positive attitude. I'm assuming he won't be like this forever, so I figure I need to do this shit now when he's not going to shove me out of his bunk."

"You are such a dork," Frank said, and flicked him on the forehead.

Gerard slapped his hand away. "You're just jealous."

Frank absolutely was, actually, but there was no way in hell he was going to admit it. "Shut up and cuddle your drummer, freak."

*

Bob didn't turn back in the night.

Trying to shake off endless vivid dreams -- Gerard pregnant, _the fuck?_ , Frank rolled over in his bunk, and was faced with a solemn-faced and suspiciously wet Bob.

"I didn't mean to." Bob said, and his eyes filled with tears.

"What happened, buddy?" Frank rubbed at his face and leaned on one elbow. "Did you wet the bed?"

"No." Bob shook his head violently. "I was hungry and I like cereal 'cos it goes snap crackle pop! and I looked and everyone was asleep and I climbed up 'cos my belly was tickling and I found some and I pulled it down and put it in a bowl and I needed moo juice and it went all over the floor!"

Frank massaged his temples. It was really too early for this. "Want to show me?"

"'Kay," Bob said, and stepped back as Frank swung his legs out of his bunk. Taking a moment, Frank yawned then stood, following Bob who had hitched the hoodie up at the front, the back slithering along the floor.

"See," Bob pointed at the kitchenette. "It fell."

Frank wanted to turn back and jump into bed when he saw the huge pool of milk on the floor and cereal scattered from the lounge all the way to the bunk area. The fridge door was open along with two cupboards, one of them far too high for Bob to reach without climbing. Imagining Bob scrambling up next to the stove and sharp knives made Frank feel cold, and he sank down in the nearest chair, resisting the urge to yell.

"It was an accident," Bob said softly, and rested one tiny hand on Frank's knee. "I'm sorry."

"I know you are," Frank said. "But you can't climb, it's dangerous. You could have been hurt."

Bob tucked his chin against his chest, his bangs falling into his eyes. "Sorry."

Frank ran his hand over Bob's hair. "It's okay, just don't do it again."

"Promise," Bob said, and then hugged Frank's leg before stepping away, trailing the hoodie through the milk. "My tummy still tickles."

"Well I guess I'd better get you breakfast, then," Frank said. He lifted Bob up, putting him down in the lounge where the Turtles' upground fort still took over most of the floor. "Play here while I get breakfast."

"Cereal," Bob said, already inside the fort and examining the defenses.

"Cereal it is," Frank said, and went to deal with the mess in the kitchen. He found Gerard already on his knees, mopping up the milk with a towel. "You're up early."

"I woke up and Bob was gone." Gerard wrung out the towel over the sink. "I see he's been busy."

"He was hungry." Cereal crunched under Frank's feet as he found a clean bowl and poured in a tiny-Bob-sized portion of cereal. Thankfully there was just enough milk to cover it, and Frank set the bowl and spoon on the table before scooping up Bob, setting him down on the bench chair. "Breakfast time."

"Snap crackle pop!" Bob said and shoveled in a mouthful of cereal and milk. Some dribbled down his chin and Frank reached out, wiping it away with his fingers.

"You're good at that," Gerard said, and dumped the towel in the sink before starting to make coffee.

"I lived with Mikey, it's second nature," Frank said, but he couldn't pull together enough energy to enjoy the insult. He was so sure he'd wake and Bob -- the real Bob -- would be back. This Bob was adorable and each time he looked at him Frank felt something tug at his heart, but he missed _their_ Bob, and Frank wanted him back.

Seeming to pick up on Frank's unspoken thoughts, Gerard said, "He'll turn back, he has to."

"How do we know that?" Frank whispered furiously. "Because Pete said he's seen it before? He's hardly a reliable witness."

"Mikey trusts him," Gerard said simply. "And I trust Mikey."

"I know, and I do too," Frank said. He rested his head against Gerard's shoulder. "We'll have to cancel the show."

"Not necessarily." Mikey's voice came from the bunk area, but it was Ray that appeared first, Mikey clinging onto his arm with his eyes fully closed. "Coffee?"

"Not ready yet," Gerard said, and made sympathetic noises when Mikey groaned and pressed his head against Ray's back.

"While you wait you can tell us what you mean," Frank said. Usually he was sympathetic to a caffeine craving, but he had cereal crushed between his toes, a thumping headache and the looming threat of canceling a show. "We can't play with Bob like this."

"It was twenty-four hours," Mikey said, his voice muffled. "Not overnight."

Frank considered the words and looked at his watch. "So, he could still turn back? When it's twenty-four hours after he turned?"

Mikey made an agreeing sound, and for the first time that morning, Frank felt hope and also a small pang of loss when Bob looked over and beamed, cereal stuck to his cheeks and milk down his front.

Gerard lifted Frank's arm and looked at his watch. "We don't know when he turned exactly, but it should be soon."

"So we wait," Ray said, and shuffled toward the coffee machine, towing Mikey with him.

"We wait," Frank said, and watched as Bob tipped up his bowl, slurping the last of his milk. Frank really would miss him, but not as much as he missed _their_ Bob. "Hey buddy, want to play turtles?"

"Yes!" Bob yelled and scrambled to the floor. "I'll be 'Nardo and Mikey Nafiel, and Gee, Shredder and you can be Donytella and Mr. Ray can be Master Splinter, he's a rat and has a long tail and sharp teeth and goes BAM BAM BAM with his sticks and then later I can have a story with blue lions and red monsters and Mr. Ray will play me geetar and I'll have frank fries, but no bath!"

"No bath," Frank said.

Bob nodded, satisfied, then held up his hand, curling his fingers around Frank's. "Play now?"

*

Bob played at high speed for hours. Between worrying about Bob possibly still being knee high to a fucking grasshopper come show time and the fact that Bob had rousted them out of bed at six o'clock in the goddamned morning, everyone else was lethargic and subdued. That didn't slow Bob down, though.

"I have a headache," Frank moaned.

Shrieking wordlessly and at the approximate volume of a fire engine siren, Bob raced around the couch, holding the hem of the green hoodie above his knees as he chased the remote-controlled cars Ray and Gerard were driving. Initially Bob had tried to race them with his own car. He had the hand-eye coordination of...well, a four-year-old, though, so eventually he gave up and decided that running around screaming non-stop at the top of his lungs would be more fun anyway.

"I wonder why," Ray said, and then, "Ah crap," as his car slammed into the TV cabinet and spun out.

" _Owned_ ," Gerard crowed as he guided his car safely around the turn. He threw his hands up in the air. "I am the fuckin' king of the fuckin' race track, assholes."

"Yeah, you got lucky." Ray planted a hand in Gerard's face and shoved him sideways.

Gerard toppled over onto Mikey, knocking the phone out of Mikey's hand. Mikey snapped, " _Hey_ ," and pushed him off the couch. Gerard rolled to the floor, his laugh breaking off with a squawk.

Chugging to a stop beside him, Bob looked down at him, panting. His cheeks were flushed from running, and he clutched his stomach as he said, "Can I have the story now? Pleeeease? The story with monsters? I have to have the story _now_."

"Sure," Gerard said, hoisting himself up onto his elbows. He set the car controller on the coffee table. "We can do the story now."

Bob nodded, but he didn't look happy about it. His face scrunched up and he hunched over, clutching his arms around his stomach tighter.

"You feeling okay?" Gerard said.

Bob shook his head. "My tummy hurts."

Frank sat up and scooted to the edge of the couch. "Do you have to go to the bathroom?"

Bob shook his head again, hesitated, then nodded. He took Frank's hand but didn't unhunch a whole lot while Frank led him to the bathroom.

"Do you think you have to go number two?" Frank said. He sincerely hoped not. He really didn't want to learn from experience if a four year old was capable of handling that sort of thing by himself or not.

Bob stood curled in on himself in the middle of the cramped bathroom, looking miserably up at Frank with watering blue eyes.

"I don't know," he whined. "Hurts."

"Okay, okay," Frank said. He reached down to lift Bob onto the toilet, but Bob pushed his hands away.

"No," he said. "By myself."

"Okay," Frank said again. He turned around, sighing, and leaned against the door frame, but apparently that wasn't good enough either.

" _No_ ," Bob said, pushing at the back of Frank's legs with his little hands. "By my _self_. Go out!"

"Fine, I'm going out, Jesus."

Frank got out of the way so that Bob could slide the door shut. He stood there for a second, staring stupidly at the closed door before turning around again.

The landscape flying by the bus was scrub-brush desert. They'd crossed the Arizona state line a while ago. He glanced at his watch; it was a little before nine, which meant they'd arrived at the venue in a couple of hours. Not too long after that it would be noon.

Groaning, he slouched back against the door, rubbing his tired eyes with the heels of his hands. He heard a thump from the bathroom and dropped his hands.

"Let me know if you need any help, kiddo," he said. _Please don't need any help_. He didn't have the nudity hang-up Ray had, but on the other hand he was pretty sure he'd have trouble looking Bob in the eye later if he'd had to help wipe his four-year-old ass.

"Is he okay?" Ray called from the lounge.

Frank waved him off. "He's just going to the bathroom."

After a few moments, though, he felt like maybe he should check, just in case. He rapped on the door.

"You okay in there?" he said. "You didn't fall in, did you?"

And okay, that was a joke. But as soon as Frank said it he was suddenly, horribly not sure if Bob _couldn't_ have fallen in. The toilet was just as compact as everything else in the bathroom, but Bob was pretty fucking compact at the moment too.

He shoved off the door and turned.

"Seriously, are you okay in there?" He paused, got no response, and said, "I know you're a big boy, okay, but if you don't answer me I'm going to come in there. I'm not kidding."

Still no answer.

"Fuck," Frank said, and reached for the door.

It slid open suddenly. He jerked back, staring at --

\-- a hand clutching a towel beneath the hem of the green hoodie. Frank blinked, and looked up.

A flush crept down Bob's cheeks, disappearing into the scruff of his beard and making the freckles stand out on his nose.

"I...have no pants, and." He hesitated, shifting his hold on the towel around his waist. Eying Frank dazedly, with a mixture of suspicion and confusion, he cleared his throat. "And for some reason I smell like milk. But I'm not sure I want to know why."

Hesitantly, Frank reached out, needing to touch. "You don't remember anything?"

"Like what?" Bob demanded. He itched at his cheek, dislodging a grain of cereal. "Last thing I remember was going to bed."

"Erm," Frank said helplessly, and looked at the others, who'd all come running. "Things have happened."

Bob frowned. "Did you accept baked goods from fans again?"

"What? No!" Frank said. "It's nothing like that."

"So you can tell me what it was like," Bob said. "I'm going to put on my pants, and you're all going to tell me what happened."

Clutching the towel, he climbed into his bunk, and Frank walked back to the lounge, kicking aside the giant ball and stepping over the abandoned cars. He sat, and picked up a tiny t-shirt. It was the one Bob was wearing yesterday, stained with ketchup, ice-cream and what looked like dried snot. Frank folded it up and set it to one side.

"We should clean this up," Ray said, looking at the abandoned toys. He got as far as lining up the cars, then stopped, the plastic swords on his lap.

"He's going to be furious," Frank said, remembering baths and play dates.

Mikey started to scroll through the pictures on his phone, and held up a picture of Bob in the sink, laughing, his face surrounded with suds. "It was worth it."

"He did have fun," Ray said.

"And so did we; mostly," Gerard said.

"I guess," Frank said. "But thank fuck he's back."

"I'll miss the little guy, but fuck yeah," Gerard said, pulling out a cigarette. He stretched up for his lighter -- hidden on top of a cupboard -- and lit his cigarette, taking a long drag. He let out the smoke with a satisfied sigh.

"The hell?"

Frank looked through the smoke and saw Bob standing in the doorway. He was wearing grey sweat pants and had changed out of the milk-stained hoodie, but his eyes were the same bright blue, widening as he looked around the room. "Are we running a day care now?"

"Sort of," Frank said, shifting a pile of tiny Ninja Turtle underwear so Bob could sit down. He did, and immediately Mikey moved in close, unashamedly lying against Bob's side as Frank did the same. He ignored the incredulous look Bob sent his way, especially when Ray and Gerard sat on the couch too and pressed close so they could reach out and touch.

"Well?" Bob said, and made no attempt to dislodge Mikey and Frank. "You were going to tell me something."

Frank opened his mouth, but Gerard cut him off. "I'll do it, I owe him a story." Gerard grabbed the blue cat and dropped it in Bob's lap, said, "This doesn't have red monsters or blue lions, but I think you'll like it anyway."

*

"It's a conspiracy." Bob's voice was muffled beneath the arm flung over his face. "All of you fuckers are in on it. Everybody is in on it."

They'd had him call Brian so that Brian could yell at him for being a fucking fuckhead who was clearly trying to drive Brian into an early fucking grave, because what the fuck Bryar, how did he fucking manage to go and get himself fucking magicked back to fucking preschool?

A few moments after that, either because he was a psychic freak or because (probably) Mikey had texted him when no one was looking, Pete called. Mikey had handed Bob the phone so that Pete could laugh his ass off at him until Patrick took the phone. Patrick had said something to Bob that made Bob turn red and say, "You. That's. There's no. Motherfucker, you spend way too much fucking time around Pete fucking Wentz. _Fuck_ ," before jabbing the phone off and throwing it at Mikey.

"Would Patrick lie?" Gerard said.

"He's been _corrupted_ ," Bob said darkly. "Pete. Fucking. Wentz."

Frank poked him in the head with his finger. Bob swatted at him with his free hand without moving his arm off his face.

"Dave has not been corrupted by Pete Wentz," Frank pointed out.

After the conversation with Pete earlier, Ray had informed Bob that it was Wednesday.

After a long second of blank staring, Bob had said, "Bullshit."

"We're in Phoenix. We have a show tonight," Ray had said.

"We do not. Because it's Tuesday," Bob had said. "We don't have a show in Phoenix until tomorrow."

"It _is_ tomorrow, jackass," Frank had said. "Ask Dave if you don't believe us."

Bob had asked Dave. Dave had verified the day and also their location, and then had given Bob a weird look and said, "Look, I know the drill. I didn't see anything or hear anything and I won't say anything to anybody about anything, but especially not about you having a kid. Or whatever the hell that was about yesterday. Which, don't tell me. I don't want to know. Now fuck off, man, I gotta drive."

"You did something to me," Bob said, ignoring the point about Dave. "You guys hypnotized me or some shit."

"Yeah, we did something to you," Mikey said. He had Frank's camera and was looking through the pictures. "We took you shopping for really small clothes and a million toys, we played Ninja Turtles with you, took you to McDonald's, and --" He tapped Bob on the shoulder. When Bob peeked out from under his arm, Mikey held out the camera. "And we took a fuckload of pictures, dude."

Bob eyed the camera like if he glared at it hard enough it might burst into flames and vanish, taking all of the pictures with it. It didn't, though, so Bob scowled and took it. He stared at the picture Mikey had stopped on. Frank leaned over to see. He said "Awwww" really obnoxiously just to piss off Bob, but he kind of meant it too.

"Ooh, that's a good one," Gerard said, leaning in too. "Ray took that."

It was an awesome picture. Tiny Bob was hammering on the toy drum; his hands were a blur and he had the same look of intense concentration normal-sized Bob got on his face when he played. Ray had zoomed in and called Bob's name, and snapped the picture right as Bob looked up at him, before Bob could drop the sticks and yank the drum up in front of his face.

Bob growled wordlessly and forwarded through the next dozen or so pictures. They were more of him playing. About half caught him off guard and laughing or making goofy faces, while the other half caught just bits and pieces of him as he dove behind the couch or behind Gerard or threw himself to the ground or hid behind toys to avoid the camera.

Bob snickered a little smugly at those.

Then he froze.

"What the hell?" He held the camera closer to his face, squinting at the picture. He flipped through a couple more and then stopped again, looking alarmed. "Is that -- am I -- is he -- is that the kitchen sink?"

"Oh!" Frank tried to take the camera, but Bob had an iron grip on it. "How did those turn out?"

He got both hands on the camera and wrenched it sideways just enough so he could see the picture display.

Bob was staring past Mikey at Gerard, his expression growing increasingly horrified. "You gave -- you put -- the _kitchen sink_?"

"Dude," Gerard said. "You had ice cream in your underpants."

Going pale, Bob made a strangled sound. "Was I _naked_ in the sink?"

"Well, yeah, you kind of had to be, but there were plenty of bubbles --" Gerard blinked, and then grinned and pointed at Bob. "Hah! You just admitted that it was you!"

Bob clapped a hand over his face, not letting go of the camera. He made a sound that Frank interpreted as a long, moaned "Shit."

"Aw," Frank said, patting Bob's shoulder. "But you were so fucking cute, dude. You liked hangburgers and Frank fries, and you could go potty all by yourself because you were a big boy."

He ducked reflexively when Bob dropped his hand and shot him a murderous glare. Bob didn't actually swing at him or shove him off the couch, though. The anger faded almost immediately to resigned confusion.

"But," he said. "But. That's not even possible. I mean." He looked at the picture on the camera again, of Gerard laughing while tiny Bob flailed his sudsy arms and made his 'rar, I'm a lion' face. "That's not even possible," he repeated helplessly.

"Patrick told you the thing that happened to them, right?" Mikey said. "Did he tell you the thing that happened to those kids in that little band from Vegas?"

Bob glanced at him. "No. And I don't want to know, okay? This is fucking weird enough already."

"You are not fucking kidding," Ray muttered.

"Pete says you were probably just really stressed out and you needed a break," Mikey said.

"I was not stressed out!" Bob insisted.

Frank snorted. "You were cranky as fuck all day Monday. You practically bit my head off about a hundred times. Like, _more_ than usual."

Bob elbowed him in the gut. "Fuck you. You were driving me fucking crazy."

"I was trying to get you to ice your wrists, motherfucker," Frank shot back. He tried to shove Bob's head, but Bob ducked and smacked at his hand. "I could tell you were hurting."

"You were throwing ice cubes at me, asshole," Bob said.

"Because you wouldn't take the ice packs, dickface."

"Because I didn't need them, shithead. I was _fine_."

"How do you feel right now?" Gerard said suddenly.

Bob blinked at him. It took him a second to process the question, probably because he was working on getting Frank in a headlock. "What?"

Gerard made a wiggly gesture with his hand. "Like, your wrists. Your mood. Whatever. How do you feel?"

Bob shrugged and started to say something, but then hesitated.

"Actually, I feel pretty good," he said finally. "I…kind of feel like I slept for a month."

"See?" Frank took advantage of Bob's distraction to twist out of his grip. "You turned yourself four because you needed it."

Bob glared weakly at him.

"I didn't turn myself four," he insisted, but he obviously didn't believe it anymore. He was actually starting to look a little upset. On him the bewilderment and uncertainty were less heartbreaking than on tiny Bob, but…okay, not much less, because suddenly Frank could see tiny Bob looking out from regular Bob's eyes. Frank shook himself and crossed his arms over his chest to avoid doing something weird and stupid like giving Bob a hug.

Glancing back down at the camera, Bob advanced to the next picture. In it, he was sitting on Frank's lap wrapped in a towel, his head nestled against Frank's shoulder. Frank had his cheek resting on Bob's head and was looking at the camera and trying to hold back a smile. If Frank had been a sappier sort of person, he might've thought his expression was a little dopey and fond.

Bob's face flushed red and he scrolled quickly past it. They hadn't gotten any more pictures after that one, so the camera looped around to the first one. Tiny Bob glared up from the display, his little fist clenched and swinging out to hit the camera.

Bob sighed and switched the camera off.

"This is so fucking bizarre," he moaned. "And -- seriously. I can't believe you guys didn't just, I don't know. Lock me in the bathroom until I --" He waved a hand. "Grew up. Changed back. Whatever."

He was too busy shaking his head at the mess of toys scattered all over the lounge, so he missed the various expressions of horror and indignation everybody gave him.

He picked up on it when Frank punched him in the arm.

"Fuck you," Frank said. "What kind of assholes do you think we are?"

"Ow --" Bob said, and then broke off when Ray reached around Frank to smack Bob in the back of the head.

"Seriously, Bob, what the hell?" Ray said.

Bob got a flick on the ear from Gerard and a really nasty pinch on the leg from Mikey. Mikey had cruel, pointy fingers made for nasty pinches.

"Mother _fuckers_ ," Bob yelped. "Jesus, knock it off! I just meant. I mean, it's not like four year olds can take care of themselves. I must have been a pain in the ass. Nobody wants to deal with that shit."

Sighing dramatically, Gerard got up and climbed over Mikey and weaseled himself between Bob and the couch. He plastered himself against Bob's back.

"Bob," he said admonishingly. "We didn't mind. We never mind dealing with that shit, actually, no matter how old you are."

Bob pushed at him feebly. "That's not what I meant," he said.

"Yes it is." Mikey flopped onto his side across Bob's lap and looked up at him. "That's exactly what you meant."

Ray laughed and snatched the camera out of Bob's hand as Frank hid his urge to give Bob an actual hug by winding his arms around Bob's neck and nuzzling his face in an obnoxious and exaggerated version of a hug.

"It's okay, Bobert, we won't tell anyone that deep down you're actually a big baby who just wants to be cuddled and told bedtime stories."

Bob made a strangled sound and Gerard socked Frank in the shoulder.

" _Frank_ ," Gerard said.

Frank sniggered into Bob's neck, but he also smoothed a hand down Bob's arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. He wasn't sure Bob would get it, but maybe he would.

"Seriously Bob," Ray said. "The next time you need a break or, like, a hug or whatever, just say something. It's cool. You're allowed, and we don't mind. Just. Don't wish yourself back to diapers or some shit anymore, okay?"

Frank heard the camera click. Bob tensed briefly, but then sighed and went limp beneath the Frank-Gerard-Mikey pile.

"I hate you all," he muttered, and Frank could practically hear him blushing.

"Whatever," Frank said. He shifted around without letting go of Bob, until he was comfortable. "But next time we play Ninja Turtles I so get to be Shredder. I will kick all your asses."

*

  



End file.
